


Trust Me

by Prince_Hamlet



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Set immediately post-MAG 127, beholding powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 10:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17999849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_Hamlet/pseuds/Prince_Hamlet
Summary: In an effort to not think about Basira, Jon thinks about Martin.And thinking about Martin leads to Knowing where he is.Jon tries for a do-over reunion.





	Trust Me

To his credit, he didn’t think of Basira.

But thinking about Breekon made his the dull ache in his temples flare up again, so he was left without a statement to research and his mind wandered unsupervised to Martin.

He ran their short encounter through his head a thousand times, trying to figure out where it went wrong. Could he have said something different, done something different, to make Martin stay? But there was nothing to analyze. He’d simply been… too late. He couldn’t help but think of all the times he’d scorned his coworkers, mistrusted them. How little he’d cared about their lives.

This is what he got for that, then. 

Scorn.

Even Basira, the only one who’d talk to him, clearly only did so because she thought it was in her best interest for now. That he was useful, until the moment he would inevitably turn on her.

He used to dread Martin acting on his obvious crush, asking him to drinks or, god forbid, trying some big romantic gesture. 

Now he’d kill for just a hello once a month or so.

But it was too late, and everything was different now. 

It was hard to believe that Martin even still worked in the same building, even though he was just in the library right now, it seemed like Jon could never pin him down.

Wait, he was in the library right now.

Jon didn’t think about how he knew that and instead looked for an excuse to go to the library on his too-pristine desk. He scrabbled together research on plagues (to look into Breekon’s story, he would explain) and made his way to the library. On the way up, he swiped a hand through his hair (too long, he hadn’t gotten a haircut since he’d left the hospital) and straightened his sweater (stained, he really needed to do laundry) and practiced his most casual of greetings (god, why was he agonizing over this). 

The library was so different from the archives themselves. Tall windows let in streams of mid-afternoon sun that lit the cloth bound books on the particle board shelves. It smelled fresher up here, out of the basement. Like paper and dust and warm lamps. He spent a couple minutes of “casually” walking the shelves “searching” for his book as if he didn’t know its exact call number and location the moment his brain conjured the title. Then Jon saw him: bent over one of the desks writing notes on a legal pad, cross referencing from two books. As Jon watched, Martin tapped the end of his pen against his cheek and bounced his leg along to some tune in his head. It all looked so normal, like no time had passed and he was just doing research on another statement Jon had given him. 

Maybe he shouldn’t talk to Martin. He could still pretend things were alright this way.

Martin started at the sound of the tape recorder on the corner of his desk turning on. He looked at it like it had just appeared and then looked around, his eyes landing on Jon.

Jon attempted casualty in probably the least casual way possible and waved. Martin half lifted a hand, put it down, reached to turn off the recorder, and stopped just short, all while a myriad of subtle expressions flicked across his face. 

Well, Jon had already come this far. He walked up to the desk. The sound of the tape recorder soothed his nerves and the reason it was so comforting agitated them. “Martin, hi. I was just up here doing research. I didn’t expect to see you.” 

“Ah, yeah, hi, me too. To, uh, to both.”

Martin was making eye contact with the tape recorder and rubbing a page of one of the books between his fingers. Jon tried to remember how normal people talked.

“So how are— ”

“I should probably be going— ”

“Oh I— ”

“No, sorry, you should…”

Martin shook his head like he was shaking off the end of the sentence before he could say it. He started to pack up his books and notes. Jon scrambled for something to say. Something normal. Something that would make this better. Something that would make Martin stay. But that was the problem wasn’t it? There was nothing normal he could say. And if he was just trying to make Martin do something, what was the difference between him and any of the other monsters that manipulated them? 

He thought of Basira. How little he could blame her for everything she said to him.

“Martin, do you— “ No, wait. He tried again, picked each word carefully. “I would like to know if, if you think I’m… a monster.”

“What?” Martin knocked over his empty mug. “Jon, no, of course not.” But he still wouldn’t make eye contact. He shoved the legal pad into his messenger bag. 

“Then, why… I mean…” 

“I’m sorry Jon, I really am, but I’ve got a lot of work to do.” Martin apologetically swept the rest of his assorted notes into his bag and stood up.

“Martin please,” Jon started.

“Tell Melanie and Basira I say hi, ok?” Martin brushed past him and without thinking Jon snapped a hand up around his upper arm. Jon was still looking at the desk but he could See Martin’s look of concern.

“Then why are you doing this?” He forced through gritted teeth.

“What?”

“Why… are you doing this?” Jon’s grip tightened and his knuckles went white. The air between them crackled.

“I’m doing it for you.” Martin said. He put his hand over Jon’s. “Whatever else you think you have to believe that.” He carefully pried Jon’s fingers off his arm and put his hand in Jon’s. Jon turned to face him slowly, eyes fixed forward with a steady intensity. 

“But why? What are you doing here, Martin?” His voice was slow and icy, but less like a glacier and more like a frozen pond in March. Shaky, tenuous. Jon turned on him and crowded forward, eyes on Martin, Searching, Looking. The ones in Jon’s head flicked back and forth like he was looking between a number of open books in a language he didn’t understand. The ones in Martin’s head pulled open closet doors and opened boxes and dug around in filing cabinets. In each and every one the same thing: static. “What are you doing here?” Jon whispered. There was no power behind it. Just fear.

“I’m sorry Jon.” Martin pulled him into a hug. He was stiff, but Martin held tight until he started to relax and close his eyes.

What had he just done?

“Oh god, I am a monster,” he choked into Martin’s shoulder. Martin held him tighter.

“No, no you’re not. You’re Jonathan Simms, and none of this is your fault. I promise that when this is all over I’ll tell you everything, but for now, just know that you’re not a monster. I never thought that, even for a second.”

Jon breathed a little laugh. “Even now?”

“Even now.” Martin pulled away. “I just need you to trust me right now.”

“But—” 

“I trust you, Jon. I always have. Please just do the same for me now.”

Jon started at him as he pulled away, conflicted.

“Ok.” he sighed. “Ok. Just, be careful Martin. Please.”

“I will.”

And then he was gone. Jon was left staring mutely at the space he’d left, the beginnings of a migraine flaring up behind his temples again.

He tried to figure out if he felt better.

He definitely managed to avoid thinking about Basira though, for the rest of the day. And the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Well this is my first TMA fic. It popped into my head fully formed after listening to MAG 127 and I decided to post it.
> 
> My tumblr is prince-hamlet, come yell at me if u want, and make sure to smash that mf comment button if I made u sad.


End file.
